Authors: Karin Harlow
High above the city, the chopper steadied as Jax prepared to jump. Spotting the exact rooftop from this height wouldn’t be an easy task, and she had no room for error. Giving the aerial map one final glance, she peered through the darkness to the twinkling lights below, then back to the pilot.
“Your target is three hundred meters west. With the wind currents, you should land directly on it,” he said.
Jax nodded and positioned herself on the edge of the chopper. Wind blasted her backward, but she hung on and waited for the count.
“Three, two, one, jump!” he called in her headset.
“Geronimo!” she screamed and jumped.
Adrenaline infused her. Cold air rushed up, smashing against her skin. Euphoria claimed her. She could free- fall for hours but had less than a minute on the shorter descent.
The harsh rattle of her jumpsuit buffeted by the rush of air filled her ears.
Reaching for the rip cord, she gave it a hearty tug, releasing the black chute. Her armpits felt a mighty tug when the parachute opened and her neck whiplashed backward. Grabbing for the toggles, Jax took control and began to navigate toward the city below. Crosswinds
fought to move her off course, but she battled back, steadily falling earthward.
Fixing on her landmarks to the north, east and west, Jax triangulated, focusing on three possible rooftops. She’d known prior to the jump that their similarity to one another would be an issue, but she also knew the closer she came to them, the more distinguished they would become. Circling above, she slowed her descent and picked her landing zone. Increasing her speed now, the rooftop rushed toward her until her final tug on the toggles almost brought her to a hover.
No sooner had her feet hit the gravel and tar surface than a burst of wind swooped her ten feet off the ground and carried her toward the edge of the building, sixty-five stories above the ground. Quickly tugging on the toggles, she sloppily gained control of the chute and was slammed into the roof while being dragged to its edge. Jax dug her heels in hard and pulled with everything she had to rein in the errant chute.
The small wall surrounding the outer edge of the building top was getting closer, and she could see herself being hurled over it. Frantically reaching for her outer right ankle, Jax felt for the sheathed knife strapped to it. The chute continued its pull, and yards were about to become feet. Grasping the knife, she violently slashed at the cords in front of her, the razor-sharp blade severing them upon contact. Freed from the right side, the chute quickly jerked her to the left and spun her backward with the remaining attachments. She slammed into the wall and, reaching overhead, slashed at the straining cords as she felt herself being lifted above the rooftop, her backpack scraping against the wall.
Suddenly, she crashed downward and onto her ass with a mighty thud. She balled up and stowed the freed chute in a tight corner of the roof. Shrugging off the chute container, then the backpack beneath, Jax quickly removed the headset, mic and small radio, and put it on.
“Nighthawk to Coyote, Nighthawk to Coyote, over,” she spoke into the mic as she clipped the radio to her belt.
Laughter burst into her ears. “That was some landing,” Marcus said from his vantage point in the building across from her.
“Yeah, well, fuck you very much.”
“Do you have any idea how much money we could make if that landing were on film?” he asked.
If he’d been within reach, she’d have clobbered him. Granted, she hadn’t jumped in a while, but she considered herself an expert. If she hadn’t been, she’d have been hanging off the side of the building right now. “Glad you enjoyed the show. Do you have Rapunzel?”
“Wh-what?” he asked, still laughing.
“Rapunzel! Do you have him in sight?”
“Oh, yeah, Rapunzel is in the tower.”
Making her way to the west side of the building, Jax got her bearings and looked over the edge to the balconies below.
“One more row north and you’ ll be right where you need to be,” Marcus directed.
“Oh, you feel like working now?”
She crouched alongside the wall as she removed several items from the backpack. Quickly assembling a rope to its anchor and embedding it into the bottom edge of the wall, she prepared for her descent. Removing the
.45 semiautomatic from its shoulder holster, she sharply pulled back on the slide, forcing a round into the chamber. Placing the gun back into the holster, Jax snapped the back strap into place, and it was secure.
Removing a silencer from the backpack, she spilled it into a front cargo pocket on her night cammies. Finally, she removed the night vision goggles from the pack and placed them atop her head.
Standing now, Jax clipped onto the rope and mounted the wall. Adjusting her radio mic so that the wire was loose, she spoke. “You ready to do this?”
“Repeat. You’ re breaking up,” Marcus instructed.
Jax smiled to herself. Loose wire worked perfectly. Or for Marcus, imperfectly. “I said,” she shouted, “are you ready to do this?”
“Say again.”
She tightened the wire. “Something must have happened to the radio when I hit the wall. Can you hear me now?”
“Yes, I’ ve got you now.”
“Are you ready to do this?”
“Are
you
ready, Jax? Once you step off that roof, there’s no turning back.”
For either one of them. “I know.”
“Then fly, baby, fly.”
Jax began to rappel down the side of the building. Seventeen stories below, unbeknownst to Cross, the undercover agent patiently awaited her arrival. Slowly, she made her way past one balcony after another until she hung precariously alongside the seventeenth one.
“Any movement inside?” Jax queried and adjusted the wire again.
“You’ re breaking up again. One more time.” Marcus was becoming frustrated. She could hear it in his voice.
“Any movement inside, I asked?”
“Gotcha back now. No, haven’t seen him in about thirty minutes,” Marcus advised.
“Good, then I’m going in.”
“Copy that.”
Walking along the wall to her left, away from the balcony, Jax ran back toward the right to generate enough momentum to get her onto the balcony. Too short. Once again, she moved left to run right and this time gently landed on the balcony. Tying off the rope, she quickly removed the gun, crouched and waited for any movement from inside. Retrieving the silencer from her pocket, she screwed it onto the barrel of the gun. It was showtime.
The sliding glass door was open and the curtains fluttered into the living room from the night breeze.
Sure, down here it’s a breeze, up on the roof it was a torrent,
she thought. Slowly and deliberately, she stepped through the door into the darkened apartment and out of view of Marcus’s watchful eye.
“You’ re on your own now. I no longer have a visual,” Marcus advised, but he got no response.
His frustration mounted.
He didn’t like not having contact with Jax. If she needed him, he would not be able to aid her. He also would not be able to hear the hit go down. And Lazarus would want irrefutable proof of Skarskov’s death. So did Marcus. Beause if she was playing them . . .
He set his jaw. For her sake, he hoped she wasn’ t.
Intently, he focused on the balcony of the apartment. Long moments passed, and then he saw it light up with two quick flashes.
“Do you have Rapunzel?”
No reply. More long minutes. “Nighthawk, do you have Rapunzel?” he called. “Damn radios!” he cursed. He didn’t understand it. They’d been working fine before. He’d double and triple checked them. Why—
In the framework of the balcony sliding glass door, he could see a lone figure looking back at him. The radio suddenly chirped alive.
“Are you there, Coyote?” Jax’s voice broke the silence.
“Affirm!” he responded, letting out a relieved breath.
“Thought I lost you there for a moment.”
“You did, damn radios.”
“All is well. Mission accomplished.”
Marcus watched as Jax took the rope and prepared to make her way to the street below.
“All is not well. Your radio was out again and I wasn’t able to hear it go down. Someone is not going to be pleased with this.” Hell, he wasn’t pleased either. Again suspicion hung like a black cloud around her. He wanted to trust her, damn it, but trust didn’t come easily to him, especially with a woman as dangerous as Jax. If she was just posing, if this was all a game, she’d make him look like a fool and he’d have to handle her in a way he did not want to.
“I kind of figured that when I couldn’t raise you after I was inside. Not to worry. Now, make your way to the car and pick me up, cuz I’m not gonna hang around this place for long.” Jax chuckled. “Get it, hang around?”
“Yeah, you’ re a regular comedian. I’m on my way.”
By the time Marcus came around to their rendezvous spot, Jax was waiting. She hurried and climbed in, and he took off. As he negotiated the city streets back toward the airport, he remained silent. Lazarus would require proof of death. He wouldn’t take Jax’s word for it. And neither would Marcus.
She looked over at him and smiled. Warmth infused his body. He felt a sense of relief he hadn’t expected. He had been genuinely concerned for her welfare. Afraid she might have become the victim and not Skarskov.
“The colonel is going to want proof of death,” Marcus said.
Jax’s smile deepened. “I’ ll give it to him.”
“What is it?” he asked.
She shook her head. “You’ re going to have to trust me on this. He gets proof of death when I meet him.”
Marcus scowled. He’d been hoping to postpone that meeting as long as possible.
They boarded the private jet that Marcus had arranged for only hours before. When Marcus turned to guide Jax into the cabin, he stopped short.
“Good evening, Marcus,” the colonel said from the cockpit doorway.
“Colonel,” he said, stiffening and masking his surprise. He reached behind him and drew Jax forward, but he kept her close beside him.
He didn’t like surprises, and he didn’t trust Lazarus with her. Jax was too much of a prize whether she remained mortal or agreed to change. He felt her stiffen
as she made eye contact with the colonel. He also felt the colonel’s very primal reaction to her as he walked toward them into the jet’s cabin.
“Jax, I’d like to introduce Colonel Joseph Lazarus.”
Jax extended her hand. “So, you’ re the man,” she said.
“And you are the woman who has turned my prime operative’s head.”
Jax smiled. “I feel like family already.”
The colonel took her hand and brought it to his lips. He bowed chivalrously and brushed his lips across her skin. Marcus felt an uncontrollable urge to eviscerate his commander. When his lips lingered, Jax carefully withdrew her hand.
“Speaking of family, Miss Cassidy, Marcus tells me you wish to join ours,” the colonel said, inviting her with an outstretched hand to sit down. He sat across from her, while Marcus was relegated to the seat in the row behind her.
He remained standing.
“That’s right, although not full time. I like my space. I don’t do the relationship thing very well, but my work is top-notch.”
The colonel’s features tightened at Jax’s impudence. “Who is your current employer?”
“I just told you, I fly solo.”
“How do you know William Rowland?”
“I know
of
him. I did some work for a group interested in seeing how watertight he was.”
“What group?”
“I’m not in the habit, sir, of divulging my clients.”
“In this case, you either divulge or”—Lazarus smiled,
showing his long yellow teeth—“you won’t leave this plane . . . until you do.”
Marcus watched Jax carefully, hoping she didn’t do anything stupid. If she went for her gun, she’d be dead before she could touch the butt.
Jax shot Marcus a scowl. “You didn’t tell me I’d have to give up my sources to this guy.”
Marcus smiled tightly. “You didn’t ask.”
Jax turned her gaze back to Lazarus. “The California Coalition for Conservative Causes. They have money and muscle, and want to make sure the senator was as squeaky clean as he portrays.”
“Is he?” Lazarus asked, raising a brow.
Jax nodded. “So far so good. I still have some digging to do, but I think he’s on the up-and-up.”
“Where do you get your intel?”
“I have sources.
Private,
expensive, reliable sources.”
“If you like working on your own, and have such reliable intel, why do you need us? Why should I believe you want to work for The Solution and . . . not destroy it? Or me?”
Jax leaned in. “Look, like I told your boy, Cross, I have my own code. I don’t care for scumbags. Neither do you guys. I like nice things. I’m good at what I do and it just so happens to pay for my indulgences. Right now, my pipelines have dried up a little and I’m playing spy instead of soldier. I like the action, the challenge. My work speaks for itself. If I wanted to bring you down, would I be bringing you this . . .”
She slid the backpack from her shoulders, reached in, and extracted a laptop. She handed it to the colonel.
“Skarskov is toast. Mission accomplished. That’s really what it’s all about, isn’t it?”
The colonel opened it. While he waited for it to boot up, he cocked his head and looked closely at her. “I am a patriot, Miss Cassidy. Not a death dealer for profit.”
“Like I said, I have my code. I only eliminate scumbags. Scumbags by even a scumbag’s definition.”
“Did you by chance get a video of the corpse?”
Jax shook her head. “No—”
“I thought audio would suffice, sir,” Marcus interjected, “but her mic was damaged during the drop, and I wasn’t able to hear the hit go down.”
Lazarus looked to Jax. “The laptop is not sufficient evidence.”
Jax nodded and dug into her backpack again. “I had a feeling you’d say that.” She pulled out a bloody towel and set it on her lap. Carefully, she unwrapped it revealing a severed hand with Skarkov’s trademark Grim Reaper tattoo in the palm. Jax picked it up by the thumb and handed it to Lazarus. “Dimitri’s left hand. I’d have brought you his head, but I didn’t have time, there was someone knocking hard on his door.”